


Ripped To Pieces

by TheManOfManyFandoms



Series: DreamSMP Angst and Comfort [10]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Child Murder, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Mild Gore, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Short One Shot, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29849676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManOfManyFandoms/pseuds/TheManOfManyFandoms
Summary: Tommy remembers. Tommy remembers everything.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: DreamSMP Angst and Comfort [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052576
Comments: 22
Kudos: 223





	Ripped To Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS FOR TOMMY’S MAR. 4 STREAM
> 
> TW: It’s all in the tags

Dream seems to find a sick kind of amusement in pretending like he’s going to kill Tommy again. He’ll lunge towards Tommy, with his fist raised, and laugh loudly, when Tommy screams in terror. “I’m just messing with you, Tommy,” he’ll say every time, mirth dancing in his jade eyes.

Tommy doesn’t have the energy to yell at him for it. Instead, he just presses himself into the wall and tries not to shake out of his own skin. He doesn’t want to close his eyes; doesn’t want to fall asleep. He’s more than half afraid that he’ll wake up back in that void cube, with Wilbur and his mad eyes; Schlatt and his cackling laugh; Mexican Dream and- well, Mexican Dream wasn’t all that bad.

“Am I really alive?” He asks at one point, voice rasping. He hasn’t properly used it in months, after all.

”Of course you are,” Dream grins lazily at him, “A god brought you back, after all.”

”Can you-“ Tommy hesitates, “Can you fuckin’ pinch me, or something? I can take it. It’s fine.”

Instead of pinching him, Dream slaps him roughly across the face. “What, you doubt your god?” He asks, smirking. Tommy isn’t listening anymore. He can’t hear over his own, very real and very alive, pounding heart. 

”No!” He shrieks, panting, “You can’t do that. Not you. Not here.” Because Tommy remembers every kick and punch and slap from that horrible day. He remembers the way Dream had slammed him into the ground, as he had struggled and screamed. He remembers the way Dream had slammed his head into the obsidian floor, as Tommy’s vision grew fuzzy.

He tugs at his hair, trying to turn his thoughts away from that. He wants to think about anything else. Anything at all. The only other thing he can manage to think about, is that pitch black void. Wilbur’s glowing grin, looking like the Cheshire Cat. Schlatt’s insane muttering, in the dark. The feeling of being torn to shreds and put back together. Over, and over, and over again.

”Hey!” Dream snaps in front of his face and Tommy flinches so hard he nearly falls over. Dream raises a disbelieving eyebrow, “You haven’t been this jumpy, in months. Not since-“

”Shut the _fuck_ up,” Tommy snaps; cringing, when Dream clenches his fist. He remembers the way one of his ribs had cracked, with a particularly vicious kick. He remembers the way he had coughed up blood, tears of pain and terror obscuring his vision. He remembers the way Dream had held him down, with one booted foot on his stomach, while Tommy kicked desperately and threw futile punches.

”Y’know, I’d love some new data on the afterlife, actually,” Dream says, in a pondering voice.

Tommy draws back, feeling around the lectern for anything that might be used as a weapon, without ever letting his eyes leave Dream. His hand lands on a quill and he snatches it up. He knows that, in the end, it wouldn’t do anything to help, but it made him feel better to have something sharp in his hand. “D-don’t you say that to- to me,” he says, voice shaking.

”Why not?” Dream laughs, “I’m a god, Tommy! I can do whatever I want!”

”But y-you can’t talk like th-that,” Tommy says adamantly, practically climbing the lectern to get as far away from the madman as possible.

”And why not?” Dream asks, walking closer. The bastard _knows_ that every step he takes is making Tommy jump out of his skin. The twisted smile on his face makes Tommy want to throw up. 

”You can’t even begin to imagine the kind of tr-trauma you put me through,” Tommy says, voice wavering, “You can’t touch me. You can’t talk to me like that.” Dream reaches out to put a taunting hand on Tommy’s arm. Tommy knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. He’s proving a point. He’s proving the same point he had murdered Tommy to make. He’s proving that he can do whatever he wants to Tommy and Tommy can never do anything about it.

The grip tightens and Tommy struggles to get out of his grasp. He remembers the punch that had broken his nose. He remembers the warm, sticky blood running down his face. He remembers the terrible crack that had accompanied his agonized scream, when his arm had broken.

Tommy gags; knees giving out. He collapses to the ground and dry heaves. Dream takes a few step back, with a noise of mild disgust. He gags hard enough that tears spring to his eyes, but there’s nothing in his stomach for him to throw up. Eventually, the gagging subsides and he just lays there, exhausted. He’s curled up on the ground, panting in a desperate attempt to draw air into his lungs.

_He’s too vulnerable. He’s too vulnerable. Dream’s going to hurt him. Dream’s going to punch, kick, grab, touch, hurt, hurt, hurt-_

“Tommy,” Dream’s impatient voice breaks through his thoughts. He just curls up tighter. He can’t do this anymore. He doesn’t have the strength to fight off Dream. That much is clear now. He remembers screaming until his vocal chords break. He remembers wailing for Sam, for Tubbo, for Phil, for Wilbur. He remembers Dream laughing, _laughing_ , _laughing_.

”Come on, now, Tommy,” Dream says, with a false pout that makes Tommy want to crawl into a hole and never come out. “Playtime’s no fun, if your favorite toy is broken!”

Tommy couldn't retort, even if he _wanted_ to. He _feels_ like a child's plaything; used and broken and hastily patched back together. Treated like glass, for a short while, just for it to happen all over again, when people get sick of coddling him.

Something touches his leg and he kicks out, on frightened instinct. " _There_ he is," Dream says triumphantly, "Get up, Tommy. Get up and tell me everything you remember, before I get bored."

Tommy struggles to a kneeling position, but stubbornly refuses to speak. He knows that Dream is standing over him, but doesn't have the energy to care anymore. He's trembling so hard, it's a miracle he can even stay upright.

He remembers a booted foot kicking him in the stomach. He remembers his head being pounded into the floor over and over again. He remembers the final punch, before a nauseating darkness fell, curtain-like, over everything. 

"Is death really what it took to get Tommy Innit to bow to me?" Dream asks him mockingly.

"I'm not bowing to you, you sick fucking bastard," Tommy snarls.

"Than maybe you'd like another taste?" Dream offers casually, grabbing Tommy by the hair.

Tommy screams, throwing himself away from the man. "No!" He begs, choking on a terrified sob, "Don't send me back there! Don't send me back!"

Dream is opening his mouth to respond, when the telltale sound of gurgling lava makes him freeze. The lava is draining. Sam is back.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this pain! Tommy’s stream made my brain go brr with angst ideas lmao
> 
> Kudos/comments/bookmarks are always appreciated a ton!


End file.
